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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506243">On the Horizon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MushroomDoggo/pseuds/MushroomPone'>MushroomPone (MushroomDoggo)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, F/F, Gen, Queer Character, Queer Themes, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Slow Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:55:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23506243</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MushroomDoggo/pseuds/MushroomPone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world without that first fateful rainboom, Twilight Sparkle is 18 and still and blankflank. She spends her time in a dumping ground of a public school for other ponies deemed unimportant, uninteresting, and otherwise without futures by general society.</p><p>A chance encounter with a guidance counselor, however, leads Twilight to follow her instincts and travel to Manehattan, where a mysteriously familiar pony now owns a bakery...</p><p>Will Twilight's destiny catch up with her after all?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Applejack/Twilight Sparkle (My Little Pony)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Really Bad Advice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>--&gt; Hey y'all! My formatting imported poorly, so this fic has some bbcode in it. My bad!! I'll be fixing it soon :) in the meantime, it is still totally readable (it a little jarring), so please enjoy! &lt;--</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What is the perfect score on an exit exam to prove your parents wrong?</p><p>And I don’t mean that in the conventional sense. Not proving my parents that I have potential, or moxie, or spunk, or some other nonsensical measure of academic worth, and thereby personal worth. No, they knew I had that.</p><p>A D would be really scraping by, probably. Cutting it much too close for comfort. D is graduation by the skin of your hoof. It’s luck, really. Grounds to repeat.</p><p>Too risky.</p><p>I let my gaze wander to the window. A picture perfect day in Canterlot, of course. Clear skies and fresh, clean air-- so then why did I feel like I was choking on it?</p><p>I turned my head back to my exam.</p><p>How about a B-? That’s pretty nice. It says that I actually put in a little effort. Still not an A, though, in spite of that effort.</p><p>But... I knew plenty of talentless blankflanks who were going to finishing schools on straight-B report cards.</p><p>No, then.</p><p>Split it down the middle at a C, maybe?</p><p>I tapped my pencil without thought or rhythm on the edge of the desk. My own blank flank tensed and relaxed as fast as it could, bouncing my right hind leg at nigh impossible speed.</p><p>An A would be easy. These questions were easy. This whole thing was easy, so mind-numbingly easy.</p><p>What was I doing here, anyway? This was the dumping ground for unicorns who didn’t get into Celestia’s school, for blankflanks of advancing age, for ponies with talents that were broadly useless or incapable of earning income. That wasn’t me. I had talent. I had buckets of talent!</p><p>But nopony knew that, of course. Because I had failed an examination at barely eight years old. How could any decent pony put all that pressure on such a tiny filly?</p><p>Focus, Twilight.</p><p>Just a few questions left. Choose your destiny.</p><p>You wanna do high school again? You wanna be stuck with another round of societal failures?</p><p>Or do you wanna go to finishing school like a good pony?</p><p>Or…</p><p>I should answer another one properly. Everypony knows the quadratic formula, right? It would be kinda stupid not to fill that one out.</p><p>To be fair, even I don’t know what I want. It’s definitely not finishing school, that's for sure. But, beyond that...</p><p>That’s why I was choking on the fresh air, I guess. Because the “right” grade on this test is only half the battle. Not even that-- it’s like one grain of said on this gigantic beach I had to cross to get to something that would make me happy. What happened when this grain of sand got lost in the shuffle? What happened when I moved onto another cause it was prettier, or bigger, or the other grains of sand just seemed to like it better? What about--</p><p>“Five minutes remaining.”</p><p>Oh, jeez.</p><p>Focus. Focus, Twilight.</p><p>The Noble Gases. You know the Noble Gases. Just write them down. Don’t you wanna be honest?</p><p>I wrote down the first few elements of the periodic table in order. According to my quick arithmetic, that landed me at a B-. How many more would I have to get wrong to get a C?</p><p>“Wrap it up, Twilight.”</p><p>“That was five minutes already?!” I exclaimed. My pencil started to tap again.</p><p>The teacher sighed. I didn’t know her well, couldn’t even recall her name if I was honest. “You’re the only one left, Twilight. And, yes, you’re technically within your accommodated time, but… Well, I’ve seen the way you’ve been staring out the window. Distracted?”</p><p>“I’m just… thinking.”</p><p>“Mm.” She crossed her hooves one over the other on the desk and returned to her novel.</p><p>I could do that. I could proctor exams. I could teach, I bet. I’m pretty smart. Was it all that hard to just… make other ponies be smart, too?</p><p>Nah, scratch that. Definitely not.</p><p>What a line to walk. Too much of a srew-up under-acheiver for finishing school, but not such a mess that I needed to do this unbearable year over again.</p><p>I wanted--no, no, I needed--a grade that said “Stop worrying! I can handle myself. I’m just an average pony living her average life. I’ll cutie my cutie mark one day and, y’know, maybe you’ll like it and maybe you won’t, but either way I’ll have it and you won’t have to think about me anymore. Can you just stop thinking about me already?”</p><p>Could one letter say all that?</p><p>Well. C would, as much as any one letter ever could.</p><p>So I wrote the wrong planets. I mixed up my homonyms and jumbled up my grammar. I conveniently forgot how to write a few simple words in Griffish. </p><p>I put my pencil down and turned my paper over.</p><p>The teacher turned her page as well, not yet looking up.</p><p>I sat back in my chair and laid my hooves over my stomach. Still nothing.</p><p>Tried clearing my throat, just a little. The teacher sniffled.</p><p>“Um… ma’am?” I murmured.</p><p>The teacher peered up at me over her half-moon spectacles. “Finished?”</p><p>I nodded.</p><p>She stood up and stretched. The sun glimmered on her jewelry and blinded me for an instant.</p><p>I gave my packet a little push in her direction as she walked towards me. Her hoofsteps made these awful, empty sounds on the linoleum. Somehow, though, she retained a sense of authority. Even lounging as she had been, with her mane pulled back in a bun so messy it barely qualified-- she was comfortable with herself.</p><p>And, by comparison, it made me hate myself a little more.</p><p>She picked it up. “Well?”</p><p>I blinked. “W-well, what?”</p><p>“How do you think you did?” She asked, holding the exam between the two of us like a screen.</p><p>“Oh, you know…” I chuckled nervously, swallowed the extra saliva rolling around in my mouth. “Average. Ish. Give or take.”</p><p>The teacher snorted in response. “Average-ish, hm?”</p><p>She perused the packet carefully, closely. I had never seen a test scrutinized so intensely, not even by a teacher who was actually grading one. She read every word, turned pages with a practiced deliberation, all while standing right over my desk.</p><p>As she neared the end, I opened my mouth to say something, but immediately snapped it shit again when the teacher dropped the paper screen and stared down at me. There was a strange look in her eyes. Familiar, sort of. Like she was in on some secret about me that I couldn’t quite remember.</p><p>“Erm,” was all I could say.</p><p>“Let’s take a walk,” she said. She folded the thick packet of questions in half and tucked it into her blazer.</p><p>I hopped out of my chair, which produced a loud and echoing squeal in the otherwise empty room, and fell in step behind the teacher.</p><p>She led me out of the testing room in silence. She was… weirdly tall. Like, taller than I’d thought. Tall enough that I had to sort of trot to keep up with her walk.</p><p>“Where are we going?” I asked.</p><p>“Oh, I think there’s somepony here you’d better speak with before you go,” she said. “It’s not a test. Promise.”</p><p>A little bit of the tightness in my chest released. Sometimes my anxious tendencies amazed even me.</p><p>The teacher took a sudden right, nearly cutting me off, and jostled doorknob of some kind of office. I glanced upwards and noticed the neat golden lettering across the opaque glass: ‘Compass Rose, Guidance.’</p><p>I sighed and hung my head. “You’re a guidance counselor?” I asked.</p><p>Compass Rose feigned surprise with a theatrical gasp. “Is that what that says? Imagine that. Well, since we’re here…” She pushed on the door. “In need of some Guidance, Twilight?”</p><p>Beyond the door was exactly what you think when you hear the words ‘Guidance Counselor’s Office.’ Pictures of foals on a corkboard, motivational posters anywhere there wasn’t a corkboard. Piles of yarn half-knitted into scarves. A bookshelf filled with pamphlets and flyers and booklets--not any real books, you know?--on uncomfortable subjects. A desk littered with friendly trinkets, featuring yet more pictures of her foals.</p><p>And, of course, beanbag chairs.</p><p>I flopped down into the blue one (it had fewer stains) and sank into its beany depths. “Couldn’t really get out of it if I tried, could I?”</p><p>Compass Rose laughed, honestly truly laughed. “So I was right! You are smart.”</p><p>I rolled my eyes, but didn’t respond.</p><p>“You did a great job getting a perfect C on this exam,” Compass Rose said, pulling the packet out from her blazer. “Seriously. It’s harder to do what you did here than it is to just answer the questions how you’re meant to.”</p><p>I crossed my arms, still staying silent, but wondering somewhere how exactly she had caught me.</p><p>It smelled like fresh air and sunshine in here. A little bit like orange juice, or maybe that was orange popsicles. Some kind of perfume, too. Like lillies.</p><p>A bird whistled outside the window. Wish I was a bird.</p><p>“I’ll bet you’re wondering how I caught you, hm?” Compass Rose flipped to the back of the exam. “Well, the exam was sixty questions. You answered the last fifteen of those incorrectly, earning a seventy-five percent. Perfect, middle-of-the-road C. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen a student only get the last questions wrong on an exam.”</p><p>I squirmed in the beanbag chair. “Oh.”</p><p>Compass Rose nodded. “Not only that, but you actually managed to give thoughtful answers, anyway. Instead of the chemical formula for water you… well, you wrote the equation for photosynthesis. That’s much more difficult to remember. Even I don’t know that off the top of my head.”</p><p>“Well, yeah, but it’s still wrong.” I ran a hoof across my face to clear away the stringy fringes of my forelock. “They can’t mark a wrong answer right just because it’s better or something.”</p><p>“So you admit to answering wrong on purpose?” She asked.</p><p>I groaned and rolled my head back to rest on the beanbag chair. </p><p>“Now, I can’t be sure of the details, here, but I’m guessing you’re trying to get out of something?” She leaned forward, over the exam. “Maybe… finishing school?”</p><p>I turned my head away from her the tiniest bit.</p><p>“Right. I’m guessing that’s because you have something you’d rather be doing?”</p><p>I didn’t answer.</p><p>“I’ll take that as a yes.” She sat back again, and began shuffling things around on her desk. “Normally, I’d give you a career aptitude test. But you seem to be pretty good at getting the result you want from an exam.”</p><p>A little smirk teased at my lips.</p><p>“So, I’ll just ask: What is it that you want, Twilight?”</p><p>I froze. I sat up, the beanbag chair eeking out some weird sound that nearly made me bust out laughing from sheer embarrassment and awkwardness. </p><p>Nopony had ever bothered to ask that before, especially not so… bluntly. I had been asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had been asked what I wanted to study in finishing school. I had been asked what I thought my cutie mark would be, and what my parents thought I would do, and if I wanted to join the royal guard with my big brother, and if--</p><p>The wind shifted, and the scent of disturbed dirt and fresh-cut grass wafted towards me. I breathed deeply, but couldn’t seem to let the breath out. </p><p>Was that pot I was smelling in there? Somepony was getting stoned, feeling all chilled out because they just finished high school, and I was in here? </p><p>“Twilight?”</p><p>“Um--” I choked on my words, had to clear my throat to continue. “I… I don’t know.”</p><p>Compass Rose blinked once, very slowly. “I think you may have misunderstood. What do you want right now? This second. Where do you want to be? What do you want to do? WHo do you want to do it with?”</p><p>“Well, my parents arranged this party thing--”</p><p>“I didn’t ask about your parents,” Compass Rose said. “I asked about you. If you could do anything right now, what would it be?”</p><p>I held Compass Rose’s gaze a moment longer, then slid my eyes past her and back to the window.</p><p>It’s amazing how much looking out a window can affect a pony. Especially on such a beautiful day, you know? It was something primal. Sometimes, on those days with particularly fluffy clouds and blue skies and warm sunlight, I could almost feel the itching of phantom wings fluttering against my shoulder blades. I mean, who even knows where I got that from. My family tree is unicorns all the way back. But, I swear, those wings are there.</p><p>Maybe I’m more sensitive to nice days than most.</p><p>“I wanna play music,” I blurted. I hadn’t even meant for it to come out, really hadn’t even thought it.</p><p>“Oh,” Compass Rose said. She seemed almost as shocked as I was at my sudden outburst. “You play an instrument?”</p><p>I nodded. “Piano.”</p><p>“How long have you played piano?”</p><p>I shrugged. “It’s not… I mean, it really isn’t [i]playing[/i] playing. It’s more like I listened to music and just figured out which buttons to hit, y’know?”</p><p>Compass Rose furrowed her brows almost imperceptibly. “That sounds like playing to me.”</p><p>“Well, you should hear Lyra and Vinyl, then. They’re the real musicians,” I said. “I’m just a… music fan.”</p><p>“Are Lyra and Vinyl friends of yours?” Compass Rose asked.</p><p>“I play with them sometimes.”</p><p>“So you’re a band?”</p><p>I scoffed. “Well, I wouldn’t go [i]that[/i] far--”</p><p>“So, I’m hearing that you’d really like to just go play with your band.” Compass Rose was sifting through her rolodex now. She did it with such purpose that I didn’t know whether to be afraid or excited. My heart was pounding either way.</p><p>“I… guess.”</p><p>“Ah, here we are,” Compass Rose said, settling her rolodex on one entry. She then looked back up at me. “Would you be interested in playing a show?”</p><p>“Uh…” I scratched the back of my head with one hoof. My cheeks were already flushed, I could tell. “You mean… like for an audience?”</p><p>“Sure. At a cafe. In Manehatten?”</p><p>“M-Manehatten?” I repeated. “Manehatten. Like… [i]Manehatten[/i] Manehatten?”</p><p>Compass Rose giggled, an angelic sound. “Do you know more than one?”</p><p>I swallowed. Then sighed. Then swallowed again. Was this hyperventilation? No, right?</p><p>“One of my old friends from home owns a cafe in Manehatten. It’s a little place, not much traffic, but it’s a start. Interested?” She looked at me expectantly.</p><p>Part of me thought that she was trying to catch me in a bluff. Convince me that what I really wanted was nice, stable finishing school. Trick me into saying that I knew music wouldn’t earn me my cutie mark. But she was just so sincere! Her face was soft and welcoming and generous.</p><p>“You don’t think I should just give in and go to finishing school?” I asked timidly.</p><p>Compass Rose shrugged. “Maybe you should, maybe you shouldn’t. Playing a show--one show--with your band and attending finishing school are not mutually exclusive, you know.” She paused, sighed, and smiled sadly. “Sometimes you have to be impulsive. You’d be surprised what kinds of things you miss out on because somepony didn’t follow their impulses.”</p><p>“That… sounds like really bad advice,” I said. “Like, really bad.”</p><p>“What I mean is… think of all the wonderful things we wouldn’t have if everypony was preoccupied with doing what their parents wanted.”</p><p>I thought that over, then nodded, if hesitatingly. “Hm.”</p><p>“Should I call?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Anxious, Over-Achieveing Dropout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For the record, I do totally get what Compass Rose was saying about following impulses. It’s like a less fairy-tale way of saying ‘follow your heart,’ y’know? I mean, thinking about all the art, the food, the innovations that wouldn’t exist without a little impulsivity and a little support… well, it’s enough to make anypony wanna drop out of school and start tinkering in their garage, myself included.</p><p>What Compass Rose didn’t properly convey about this particular problem-solving method, however, is just how quickly that impulse can spread.</p><p>You would think that the impulsivity would really only pose a risk to the epicenter of impulsiveness, yes?</p><p>But that’s exactly what it is. It’s an epicenter of disaster that ripples outward and uproots everypony else. I can think of literally seven ponies off the top of my head who got sucked into this ‘playing a show in Manehatten’ nonsense.</p><p>...You want a list, don’t you?</p><p>Well, let’s see. First off, there’s Compass Rose. I put her through the humility of calling an ‘old friend’ (which we all know is code for ‘awkward acquaintance I’d much rather forget’) for a bizarre favor which could seriously impact his revenue, at least for the day. I’m going to be generous to myself here and call that two ponies, since I have no way of knowing how many dependents this cafe owner had to provide for.</p><p>Next up, Lyra and Vinyl. I had said yes without even thinking of asking them. I mean, for all I knew, they could have been completely unavailable. Could have been going on vacation, or interviewing for a job, or demoing a track. But, who cares? Just say yes to random shit, everypony else gets to clear their schedules for you.</p><p>After that--and, honestly, I should have moved this up a slot or two--comes my parents. My parents, who were already losing their minds over the C I had earned quite deliberately, had to be informed that I was quitting school to play with my band. Don’t worry, mom and dad, it’s only temporary! Unless I really like it. Then it’s definitely not temporary, and you can be disappointed in me for years to come.</p><p>Lastly was my brother. He had always faced heat from my parents, as far back as I could remember it, but after being branded a ‘bad influence’ things got a lot worse. Of course, this was largely my fault. Failing Celestia’s entrance exam took quite a toll on me. Shining Armor would have said literally anything to get me to stop crying. I still remember that conversation like it was yesterday…</p><p>I had been lying on my bed, legs splayed out like a starfish, staring at my whirling ceiling fan with the depth and desperation of a middle-aged drug addict.</p><p>He had pushed open the door to my bedroom, his eyes wide and apologetic. It was kind of like the way your mom opened the door after you got dumped, or the way your dad opened the door before giving you the talk. It seemed that talking a foal down from academic failures was the charge of an older sibling. </p><p>“Twily?” he asked, voice soft. “Can we talk?”</p><p>I, stubborn little turd that I was, crossed my forelegs over my chest and rolled away from him.</p><p>He walked over and leaned against my mattress. “Y’know, Relative Motion dropped out of school.”</p><p>“That’s a myth…” I retorted. Not quite depressed enough to stop being an insufferable smartass, it would appear.</p><p>Shining sighed. “Well, you can’t blame me for trying.”</p><p>I curled myself into a little ball.</p><p>Shining reached over and put a hoof on my shoulder. “I know how it feels to let yourself down. Believe me. But let’s try to think about the upsides, here.”</p><p>I sniffled, turning my head back ever so slightly towards Shining. “You mean like… a pro/con list?”</p><p>Shining chuckled. “More like a pro list, Twi.”</p><p>“Well…” I hauled myself up into a sitting position and scooted to the edge of the bed with my brother. “It doesn’t sound very scientific. But I guess we can try?”</p><p>Oh, how simple it was to turn me around back then.</p><p>“I was hoping you’d say so!” Shining said, giving me an encouraging rub on the back. “Do you wanna start, or should I?”</p><p>I was silent for a moment. “You.”</p><p>“Okay,” Shining agreed. He looked up at the ceiling, stroking his chin and pretending to consider the pros he had very clearly already come up with. “Well, let’s see… which school do you think would be less stressful? Celestia’s school, or public school?”</p><p>“I guess… public school?” I guessed, looking up at my brother for approval.</p><p>“I think you guessed right! How about…” He trailed off, stroked his chin again. “Where do you think you’ll be the smartest pony in the school? Celestia’s school, or public school”</p><p>“Mm… both!”</p><p>Shining laughed again. “You betcha! Where do you think you’d learn more kinds of things… the magic school, or the public school?”</p><p>“Oh!” I cocked my head. “I never thought of it that way. The public school!”</p><p>“Your turn, now.”</p><p>“Hm…” It was my turn to stroke my chin, as silly as it probably looked. “Well, I don’t know any of the fillies at Celestia’s school… but I bet some of the ponies I know from the park are going to public school!”</p><p>“Hey, that’s a good one!” Shining said.</p><p>“And I bet I’ll have lots more time to keep studying on my own if I go to public school… maybe I can even take some extracurriculars!” I looked up at Shining. “Do you think public school has reading club? Or library club? Or study club?”</p><p>Shining laughed again. The amount of time he spent laughing confused me at the time; I now realize that I was just too damn cute. “See, Twily? There’s lots of good reasons to go to public school.”</p><p>“I guess…” I agreed, though still somewhat disappointed.</p><p>“Look, you can still be angry about it for now. Just promise me you’ll give the public school a real try?” Shining nudged me with his elbow.</p><p>I sighed. “Okay. I guess I can give it a try. For science?”</p><p>Shining chuckled, and nodded. “For science.”</p><p>Anyway, to make a long story short, Shining had egged on my public school journey from day one. And it’s not his fault that I’m so blah about everything now-- he was just trying to put a band-aid on my filly boo-boo and get me acting like myself again. How could he have seen the myriad of ways it would go wrong? The sheer number of ponies I would drag down into my madness, my impulsivity? Did I mention there were at least seven?</p><p>“Whew…” I muttered. I pressed a hoof into my chest, hoping to calm the burn.</p><p>“Hey,” Vinyl elbowed me. “You’re not having a heart attack, are you? I read this article about how mares don’t do that whole falling-over thing when they have a heart attack. They just get all sweaty and nauseous and their… legs hurt, or something.”</p><p>“Legs?” Lyra questioned. She repositioned her guitar onto her back and began to examine her forelegs as if they were heretofore-unknown appendages. “Why would your legs hurt?”</p><p>Vinyl rolled her eyes. “It’s science, Lyra. Mare science. Don’t you know anything about medicine?” Vinyl turned back to me. “For reals: you having a heart attack?”</p><p>I shook my head. “No, no. Not a heart attack. I’m just-- just nervous, I guess.”</p><p>Vinyl nodded sagely. “So, a panic attack, then?”</p><p>“When did you become a doctor, Vinyl?” Lyra teased.</p><p>“Last night when I couldn’t sleep. I just started reading encyclopedia articles. It totally didn’t help, I actually got really scared reading about endometriosis.” Vinyl paused to remove her sunglasses from her mane and place them over her eyes. “Medicine is fucked up, yo.”</p><p>“Lyra, have you tuned?” I asked, now twirling the pink lock of my mane around one hoof.</p><p>“Oh, shoot!” Lyra whipped her guitar back around to the front. “Twi, be a lamb and gimme an E?”</p><p>I pressed the E on my keyboard.</p><p>The cafe quieted completely in under three seconds, and all eyes were on us.</p><p>Vinyl looked at me. Lyra looked at me, then at Vinyl, then at me.</p><p>“Oh! S-sorry,” I said. “Just tuning up! Won’t be a second.”</p><p>It took a moment, but conversation resumed as normal.</p><p>Vinyl took her position behind her complex equipment. “Dude, this sucks!” she hissed. “Stupid cafe doesn’t even have a backstage!”</p><p>“Don’t disparage the venue, Vinyl!” Lyra scolded, all on an E. She shifted up to a B and sung “Twilight, could you give me a B?”</p><p>I obliged, pressing the B on my keyboard.</p><p>“Thank you!” She sung, this time sustaining as she tuned.</p><p>You ever get the feeling that you’re going to fail an exam while you’re studying? That sort of sinking feeling, where you know you should have started studying earlier, or should have asked a friend for help, or maybe just given up and cheated?</p><p>Well, my stomach was in my hooves. No, below my hooves. Seeping through the floor and into the basement. This was one test we were most certainly going to fail.</p><p>I pressed the B key over and over, holding it down as long as the tone would sustain, then releasing and hitting it again. Every time I pressed it was like an ice pick chipping away at the little piece of me that wasn’t actively experiencing a panic attack.</p><p>“G please!”</p><p>G. G. G.</p><p>Not a panic attack. You don’t have a panic disorder, Twilight. You’re stressed. You put a lot of pressure on yourself, y’know? You’re an overachiever. That’s just your nature. An anxious overachiever.</p><p>“Now D!” She was reaching the end of her range, still several notes to go.</p><p>D.</p><p>How many strings were on a guitar again?</p><p>D.</p><p>Come on, you know this.</p><p>D.</p><p>Don’t look back, Twilight. If you look back, everypony in this cafe will know you’re counting the strings on that guitar. Then what are you gonna do?</p><p>D.</p><p>You wanna be a musician, and you don’t even know how many strings are on a guitar?</p><p>D.</p><p>Have to be a musician.</p><p>D.</p><p>Now you have to be a musician, Twi. No other options.</p><p>“A!”</p><p>A.</p><p>Oh, that letter always makes me think of tests.</p><p>A.</p><p>It’s a shame it’s such a common letter. Not as common as… what’s the most common letter, again? Is it T? Seems like T.</p><p>A.</p><p>No, it can’t be T. Maybe it’s M? I feel like I use M a lot.</p><p>A.</p><p>“Last one! E!”</p><p>E! That’s it, E was the most common letter.</p><p>E.</p><p>At least you remembered something. That’s good. </p><p>E.</p><p>Your mind may be thoroughly swiss-cheesed, but at least you know the most common letter.</p><p>E.</p><p>That’ll come in handy, hm?</p><p>E.</p><p>Super often, too.</p><p>E.</p><p>“Twilight?”</p><p>Did I waste my time in public school?</p><p>E.</p><p>“Yo, Twilight!”</p><p>Did I even learn any spells while I was there?</p><p>E.</p><p>I feel like the only thing--</p><p>E.</p><p>--I actually learned--</p><p>E.</p><p>--is that I hate--</p><p>E.</p><p>--public school!</p><p>“Twilight!” Lyra pulled me out of my thoughts while a hoof on my shoulder.</p><p>“Yah!” I cried out. “Oh… sorry. I guess I might have zoned out for a second there.” I forced an awkward giggle.</p><p>Vinyl pushed her glasses up onto her forehead. “Dude… you panicking? You can tell me. I learned all the breathing exercises and junk for when Octavia was auditioning for the Canterlot Orchestra.”</p><p>Without bothering to probe further, Vinyl placed one hoof on my shoulder and stared at me with such intensity that she may have been trying to set me on fire.</p><p>“Mm?” was all I could manage as I leaned away from her, my own eyes wide and unblinking.</p><p>“Dude.” Vinyl reeled me back in. “Breathe with me. In…”</p><p>“Vinyl, not now!” I hissed. My eyes flickered to the audience and back, and I realized that not one of them was looking up anymore. For some reason, that made me feel even worse.</p><p>“Twi, pay attention.” Vinyl was surprisingly firm when she wanted to be. “In?”</p><p>I recoiled more.</p><p>“Don’t make faces. In.”</p><p>As much as I didn’t want to give in, I was running out of air, so I took a raspy breath in.</p><p>“That sucked, but okay.” Vinyl’s mouth twitched, then she chuckled. “Get it? Sucked, ‘cause you-- ‘cause you sucked in-- that’s nothing.”</p><p>“Out?” I asked.</p><p>“Oh, yeah, out.”</p><p>I let it out.</p><p>“Okay, do it again,” Vinyl said. "In…" All the while, her eyes were locked with mine. Those ruby-red eyes… </p><p>They were kinda beautiful, actually. Real round and… and red… why did she ever cover them up? She should have been famous for those eyes, should have been known for those eyes. Such a nice red. Autumn leaf red. Ballgown red.</p><p>"Out."</p><p>Her breath rushed against my throat. Celestia, my throat… </p><p>"Vinyl?" I murmured. </p><p>"You doin' alright, champ?" Vinyl asked.</p><p>"Oh…" My chest heaved.</p><p>"Oh, fuck, Vinyl, she's gonna--"</p><p>And I was off. Couldn't vomit in the venue, after all. It was amazing how outrageously, inconveniently considerate I could be, even on the verge of puking.</p><p>I exploded through the front doors, but it wasn't far enough. If I barfed in the street, the whole cafe would still see it! What a way to ruin a meal, right?</p><p>Seconds to spare. My throat was burning, my jaw clenched shut in an effort to make it somewhere safe.</p><p>No alleys, no corners-- I mean, fuck! Did they want me to just let loose in the gutter? Who designed this street, anyway?</p><p>That was when I spotted it, my version blurring, pitching and yawing, rocking and rolling… bile climbing the back of my throat. Knees knocking. </p><p>I wish I'd been in a better state of mind. I wish that I could remember it more perfectly, and under better circumstances. I wish I had had the time to memorize the tears in the striped awning, and the arrangement of fresh breads and pies in the front window. I wish I had been able to close my eyes and take a deep breath as I stood in the doorway, taking in the smoky scent of the wood-burning oven and the tart notes of apples and lemon dancing above it. I wish I had noticed who was in there at the time--ponies that would undoubtedly come to play an enormous role in the next few years of my life--maybe even say hello, buy something.</p><p>But that didn't happen, because I was going to vomit. I was going to vomit harder than any pony had ever vomited before. I was going to blow chunks at a velocity heretofore unheard of. I was--</p><p>Oh, stop thinking about it, you idiot.</p><p>I flew through the door of the building across the street, fast enough to ruffle the awning over the front window. I didn’t stop to notice what kind of establishment this was, and I barely registered the tinkle of the bell over my head. The smell of warm pastries never reached my nose because I couldn’t even breathe because if I breathed I would vomit.</p><p>“Hey!” the mare behind the counter yelled. “Hey, miss!”</p><p>I didn’t stop to look. I was moving on pure instinct now. I’m convinced that I found the bathroom by some sort of sixth-sense, in all honesty.</p><p>I made it moments before disaster. I didn’t even think to close the door.</p><p>The volume and… well, wetness of my retching, combined with what was probably a fast-travelling smell, thinned the bakery’s line considerably. And, of course, by “thinned considerably” I mean “eliminated.”</p><p>The first thing she ever said to me, dripping with southern charm, was “You’d better be dyin’ of somethin’ horrible, ‘cause otherwise I’ll have to kick your ass.”</p><p>Well. I guess the first first thing she said was “hey,” but that’s not nearly as fun to tell ponies.</p><p>I was resting my cheek on the cool porcelain of the toilet bowl, my arm wrapped around it with a sort of fierce desperation. I was done vomiting, sure, but this toilet had seen me through it. Through it all. What a great toilet.</p><p>With a disgusting belch, I managed to turn my head to the side and look up at the bakery’s owner.</p><p>She was really tall. Though, to be fair, that may be due in part to my position on the floor. </p><p>Her coat was this really nice orange-- not the orange you usually think of when you hear “orange.” Not an orange-y orange. Kind of a sunset-y orange. A soft-around-the-edges orange. The kind of orange that makes you think of fall, not the 70s. To top it all off, there was a fine dusting of freckles across her snout and under her eyes. So light it could have been flour, or powdered sugar, or whatever they use in bakeries.</p><p>Her mane was a striking natural blonde, pulled into a no-nonsense bun at the back of her head, fastened in place with a surplus of bobby pins, imprisoned further by a hairnet. Her tail was done up just the same way.</p><p>Her eyes were super green. I legitimately cannot think of a prettier way to say that. They were just real green.</p><p>“Yep,” I said.</p><p>She narrowed her eyes. Her freckles scrunched up a bit. “‘Yep’ what?”</p><p>“Yep, I’m dying.”</p><p>“Twilight!” Screeched a more familiar voice.</p><p>Lyra and Vinyl came skidding into my view, which was growing clearer by the second. They both looked like they’d seen me get hit by a carriage in the middle of the street.</p><p>Vinyl put a hoof over her mouth and looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, that’s so gross…”</p><p>“Twilight, are you okay?” Lyra asked. “What happened back there?”</p><p>The mare who worked the counter scoffed. “What happened is your friend here chased every last customer outta my bakery! Y’all better be hungry, ‘cause you’re buyin’ every last thing in that case!” She pointed emphatically to the array of baked goods on display under her counter.</p><p>Vinyl looked positively green.</p><p>Lyra looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, who are you?”</p><p>The mare whipped the hairnet off of her head and threw it down on the floor in anger. “I’m Applejack, consarn it! This is Applejack’s Bakery--my bakery--and your friend killed my profits for the day!”</p><p>“Chill out, AJ!” Vinyl cut in. “It’s not like she meant to! Can’t you cut her a break? She looks dead!”</p><p>I rolled my head back down and closed my eyes. My friends would fight this for me. I just wanted the cold, cold porcelain.</p><p>“Don’t call me AJ!” Applejack responded. “Get your friend outta my bakery!”</p><p>“Should we come back for all the stuff in the case?” Lyra asked timidly.</p><p>“Out!” Applejack bellowed.</p><p>I can hardly remember being carried out of there. I’m not entirely certain I was carried, to be honest-- My brain may have been so shot at that point that I walked myself back to our van with no trouble at all, talking all the while.</p><p>Then again, I did come around with a considerable number of bumps, bruises, and scrapes I did not remember getting. So I think I was probably carried very poorly.</p><p>Strangely, the only thought I’m certain was in my mind was one of Applejack. She felt so familiar to me, like I had met her at some part-time job in high school, or maybe she was in an opposing team’s marching band or something. Perhaps I lived near her for some time before her family moved away. The answer felt so close, and yet it kept flitting just out of my grasp.</p><p>When I woke up from my cold-sweat nap, Vinyl was sitting beside me. She was reading something, I think-- some horror novel.</p><p>“Where’s her hat?” I mumbled.</p><p>Vinyl’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”</p><p>I closed my eyes and moaned softly. “Ooh, Celestia. I feel like I got hit by a freight train.”</p><p>Vinyl nodded. “Lyra and I aren’t feeling too good, either. We think it was food poisoning, probably from that stupid gas station food. Nopony got it bad as you, though,” she said with a sympathetic chuckle. “Sorry, Twi.”</p><p>I sat up. “Food poisoning?” I repeated. “Really, you think so?”</p><p>“Don’t sit up so fast!” Vinyl scolded. She pushed me back down onto my pillow. “And, yeah. If you’re asking because you don’t think you have a panic disorder, lemme just--”</p><p>“I don’t have a panic disorder!”</p><p>“For fuck’s sake, Twi.” Vinyl shook her head. “You need to start taking this seriously! You’ve always been a worry wart, but it’s gotten way worse lately. I don’t need to be worried for the both of us, okay? I don’t have the emotional capacity for that shit.”</p><p>I tucked my snout down. “Sorry.”</p><p>Vinyl shrugged. “I-It’s cool. You don’t have to be sorry or anything.”</p><p>I sighed. Vinyl had that look in her eyes that told me further arguing would get me nowhere. She was stubborn like that. It was admirable, in a way. Just not when you wanted to get her to budge.</p><p>“I’ll go apologize tomorrow,” I said. “Maybe buy something.”</p><p>Vinyl nodded. “Sure thing, champ. As long as you’re up for it.”</p><p>“Yeah…” I murmured.</p><p>I rolled over to face the wall. Vinyl pulled my blanket up over my shoulder, gave my back a little bit of a rub, and picked up her book once more.</p><p>Sleep was near once again. Memories of Applejack were swirling through my mind faster and faster-- though few of them seemed to be based in reality. All quick flashes of her looking… different. Some older, some younger. Her mane in different styles. Even just in different places, places I couldn’t recognize in the least.</p><p>“Holy shit!” I shot up in bed.</p><p>Vinyl dropped her book. “What?!”</p><p>“Our gig!” I yelled. “We missed our gig!”</p><p>Vinyl chuckled. “Sure did, champ.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fix-It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I remember so vividly the way my heart fluttered in my chest; part nervous hummingbird, part adrenaline-fueled terror, all of it amplified by the smallness of my filly-sized chest. I could hardly breathe, and yet I felt so alive.</p><p>The room smelled like fresh-squeezed orange juice and real roses-- not that fake grandma perfume. Princess Celestia's mane lit up the room in an otherworldly glow.</p><p>I walked across the tile, which seemed to stretch on into infinity, so far that I could see the curvature of the planet. Then, suddenly, I was in front of the platform which held the magic egg.</p><p>Only… it wasn't an egg. It was me. And I wasn't nestled in a straw nest, I was sitting on a red beanbag chair, my hooves folded over my chest in childish anger.</p><p>Wait, no. It was a guitar. Lyra's guitar, nestled in a pile of bile and vomity chunks.</p><p>No. Me again.</p><p>No, no. Just an egg.</p><p>A big, round, mysterious egg with some sort of pattern on it which I, embarrassingly, could no longer remember. But I did remember the subtle scent of straw from the bed it sat in. I remember thinking [i]why straw? Why not a cushion? Won't straw just get everywhere if the egg hatches?[/i]</p><p>And I remember it because it was the first seed of doubt which had entered my mind as far as this examination went. As if the straw was daring me to mess up. As if it knew I could never hatch that stupid egg, and that no one would have to clean up that straw anyway. It would just sit on the platform forever.</p><p>Suddenly, the room was melting away, almost faster than I could see. Like the whole place had been carved out of ice, and the heat of the sun was bearing down upon it all. I saw myself, again, on the platform. My eyes slid down my cheeks and onto my shoulders. My snout drifted down below my chin. Just a blank, smooth globe of a skull with no features at all.</p><p>I blinked again, and it was all gone. I was in a black void-- just me and Princess Celestia.</p><p>Unfazed by this change in venue, I began to concentrate very hard on hatching the egg which no longer existed.</p><p>"What do you want, Twilight?"</p><p>I pushed harder, my eyes screwed shut with focus and determination.</p><p>"What do you want?"</p><p>It was coming from Princess Celestia, but it was Compass Rose's voice.</p><p>"What do you want?"</p><p>"I want to pass!" I yelled back.</p><p>A long pause.</p><p>I began to moan with effort, digging my hooves into the only uncertainty of the void and pushing everything I had through the top of my horn.</p><p>"What do you want?"</p><p>"I want to pass!" I repeated. "I just want to pass!"</p><p>"What do you want?"</p><p>And then I was on the cot in the back of the van, my flesh-and-blood heart pounding, beads of sweat rolling down my forehead.</p><p>I sat up far too quickly and put both hooves to my chest, as if it would calm the frantic beating of my heart. I was panting and sweating and so scared I would barf again that I must have fought it back. Thank fuck.</p><p>It took probably a good forty minutes to calm myself down enough to go back to sleep, I believe. Nearly four just staring at the wall and trying to remember where I was, who I was, what was happening.</p><p>When I finally got my mind put back together, I looked over at Vinyl.</p><p>She had stayed. She had slid down against the wall, her mane exploding on the wall behind her head. The book she had been reading was open across her chest. She looked to all the world like a pony who had taken a break from reading on the beach for a quick nap in the sun, not a pony who had passed out from exhaustion while watching over a sick friend.</p><p>She had stayed.</p><p>My heart fluttered once more. Then my stomach. Then I was able to lay down.</p><p>I stared up at the ceiling for so long that I could probably be considered a monk by some less-cultured city ponies. </p><p>I'd like to say that my head was empty, but that was one of those dreams that you thought about whether you liked it or not. The kind of dream that you'd actually consider paying somepony to unravel for you, silly as the whole “dream interpreter” business may be. </p><p>Lyra snorted violently in the passenger seat and kicked the plastic underside of the dashboard with her back hooves. Enough to jolt me out of the destructive thoughts, but not enough to shock me awake exactly. </p><p>For the rest of the night, I didn't dream.</p><p>When morning came, it came slowly and all at once. No, I don't know what I mean by that.</p><p>All I know is that the night took forever, and all I could do every time my eyes slipped open in sweaty, feverish delirium was pray that the night would end soon. It felt like some sort of cruel punishment for acting like such a dope.</p><p>[i]Dearest Princess Celestia, [/i]I found[i] [/i]myself muttering in the back of my mind, [i]I learned a lot today about how to follow impulses responsibly. I learned so much about how to consider your friends and family when you make stupid choices. Please, please let the sun rise so that I can move on.[/i]</p><p>But the night dragged on. And then it didn't.</p><p>When the sun came up, I no longer wanted it to. Isn't that always how it goes? You can't sleep all night, but seconds before your alarm chirps you're out cold. Deepest, best sleep of your life.</p><p>It was May eighth. I had taken my exam on May fifth. Fuck, can things get out of hoof fast.</p><p>I felt better. The nausea and discomfort was gone at last. Although, to be honest, the fear that it would soon return loomed heavily over my mind as I rolled out of bed and began to knock about the van.</p><p>The back door of the vehicle slammed open with a cartoonishly loud [i]bang![/i] and I stumbled into the sun like a drunkard. Even the shadow of my hoof seemed to do little to protect me from the intensity of the morning light.</p><p>So distracted and disoriented was I that I nearly missed Lyra's little yellow post-it stuck to the side of the van:</p><p>[i]Gone out for breakfast :)[/i]</p><p>I tore it down. Surely there was more than one place to get breakfast in all of Manehatten. Hell, there was probably more than one diner within walking distance-- even for me, who would surely pass out from hunger and dehydration quite soon.</p><p>Unless…</p><p>I crumpled up the sticky note and tossed it over my shoulder. Down at the other end of the street were two establishments I couldn't bear to be seen in: first, the cafe. Second, Applejack's bakery.</p><p>Of course they would go to her bakery for breakfast. Why shouldn’t they? They hadn’t made indescribable idiots of themselves. They had been perfectly stable, normal, respectable members of greater society.</p><p>Just as I was thinking that I should skip breakfast, skip every meal until we finally made it back to Canterlot, my stomach lurched and grumbled aloud.</p><p>I should go, right? Follow my heart-- I mean, my impulses?</p><p>No, no. Don't be stupid.</p><p>Well… you do owe her an apology.</p><p>She'll get by without one.</p><p>That's not very nice.</p><p>What if you puke again?</p><p>What if Applejack hates you forever because you didn't apologise?</p><p>My thoughts halted there, full-stop. Why would I care if she hated me? She lived in Manehatten, a place I would hopefully be leaving as soon as possible. She seemed to have an overall grumpy demeanor (although I suppose the circumstances of our first interaction were less than stellar). So what if she didn't like me?</p><p>My stomach lurched again.</p><p>It was compulsive. A compulsive, all-consuming need to be liked.</p><p>That's what I told myself, anyway. That’s how I rationalized it at the time.</p><p>This situation, I thought to myself, is the kind with a lot of moving parts. The kind with an unpredictable outcome. But, at the very least, I could feel good about my own ability to take responsibility for a bad situation. Even if apologizing made it worse, I did what everypony had been taught to do and owned up to my mistake.</p><p>Satisfied at last, I began the long walk to the end of the block. </p><p>I couldn’t wait to hear what Applejack would say to me when I opened the door. Probably something scathing and sarcastic that would just make me feel like laying down in the gutter for a good, long cry. Probably with a little sneer thrown in at the end, just for good measure.</p><p>[i]Howdy-Doo, Miss Twilight! [/i]I could hear her saying.</p><p>I doubled back. </p><p>What in Celestia’s name made me think that Applejack would say that?</p><p>Must be the accent. I’m just a prejudiced little pony who thinks that anypony with a Southern accent is some kind of country bumpkin who says funny country-isms and is generally very hospitable, often verging on outright ignorance and being played up for a laugh.</p><p>“Well, well…” Monotone. Low. Heavily accented. “Look who’s come back.”</p><p>That was much more in-character, I thought.</p><p>There stood Applejack. The real Applejack.</p><p>She was leaning against a broom in front of her shop. Her blonde mane and tail were pulled up in restrictively tight buns, and further forced under hairnets. She was wearing a very traditional white apron with a red trim. The trim matched the ties in her mane, I noticed.</p><p>The smattering of perfectly brown freckles over her snout and across her cheeks were even more obvious in the morning sun. The combination of her mane-do and her grimace pulled all of the skin on her face taught.</p><p>“This is for next time,” Applejack said, gesturing to a brass urn beside the front steps of her establishment.</p><p>I could have sworn the sun actually glinted on its surface as I admired the large vessel.</p><p>“Next time?” I asked, which was probably the dumbest thing to say in that situation.</p><p>Applejack’s eyes narrowed further. “I have this feeling you’re going to keep coming around here. That true?”</p><p>“J-just the once,” I said. “For breakfast.”</p><p>“Mm.” Applejack spit onto the sidewalk. Not a mean spit. Just a spit. “I doubt that.”</p><p>I shook my head. “I swear! We’re not even from around here, my friends and I. We’re from Canterlot--”</p><p>Applejack scoffed. “That just figures. Y’all come blowin’ through here , thinkin’ you own this town ‘cause you’re from [i]Canterlot[/i], and break my damn toilet in the process.”</p><p>I felt my cheeks grow pink. “I broke your toilet?”</p><p>She sighed. A great, weary sigh which seemed to come from a deeper wound than that which I had caused her yesterday. "T'be fair, that old thing has been dangling off a cliff for a while now. You did give it a hearty shove yesterday evening, though."</p><p>"I'll fix it!"</p><p>What?</p><p>No.</p><p>You don't know how to fix stuff, Twilight.</p><p>Just offer to pay for the plumber or something.</p><p>Time slowed like a coin dropped into molasses as Applejack thought the offer over. Her eyes narrowed and her brows furrowed in extreme detail. I could almost hear the gears of her mind spinning, if it hadn't been for the unholy grinding of my own mental mechanisms.</p><p>"Well. Guess there's no harm in letting you take a look. You certainly can't make it any worse."</p><p>Wanna bet?</p><p>I laughed. It was not a convincing sound. "Right!"</p><p>A flicker of doubt passed over Applejack's face, but she shrugged it off quite easily. "Your friends are eating breakfast. Why don't you eat before you get to work, Chunks?"</p><p>Chunks. Fun nickname.</p><p>I'm not even sure if I responded. I feel like my jaw might have just clamped shut from embarrassment at that stage. Somehow, against all odds, I was able to complete my conversation with Applejack and make it into the bakery, though I honestly couldn't tell you how either of those things actually occurred.</p><p>Even in such a state, I was able to get a better feel of the bakery today. It just hit me in a way that I couldn't ignore.</p><p>Everything in it was bright-- bright in color, brightly lit, even bright-smelling, if that makes any sense. Not the kind of bright that's tiring. The kind that feels like somepony just finished their spring cleaning in here. The kind that makes you wanna take a deep breath, let it out, and collapse to admire it all.</p><p>It was more than a bakery. There was significant seating to my right. I had missed this yesterday, unsurprisingly. It smelled like baked goods and sugar in here, but I could also smell eggs. And potatoes. And maple syrup.</p><p>"Hey, Twilight's up!" Lyra exclaimed.</p><p>She and Vinyl were seated at a chrome-edged table smack in the middle of the room, already chowing down on omelettes filled with fresh veggies.</p><p>I let a smile pull at the corners of my mouth. "Hey, guys. Sorry about--"</p><p>"Bup-bup-bup," Vinyl cut me off instantly. "There will be no apologizing for what happened yesterday. Just sit your ass down and eat, okay?"</p><p>I chuckled. "Deal."</p><p>The chairs were solid wood and screeched against the tile floor in a way that comforted me. As strange as it sounds, I could feel the memories that ponies must have here; it was like a lifetime of emotion and happiness and intimacy was crashing down on my head as I sat at that table with my friends. It all felt very… pink. That's the only way I can describe it.</p><p>Though there were only a few other ponies dining with us, it was like the forms of every other customer that had ever been here were whipping past me. It reminded me of those little animated flipbooks, only far too fast. All the conversations, too, flooded my mind: loud and happy and… and [i]loud[/i]!</p><p>"Celestia, who's shouting?" I asked. "I didn't know ponies' voices could go so high…"</p><p>Lyra cocked her head quizzically. "Are you talking about the chefs in the back?"</p><p>Like water draining from the tub, all the additional sounds were sucked away from my consciousness. I was left pondering the unusually quiet bakery. Nothing loud or raucous or even energetic. Definitely none of the squealing [i]ooh! ooh! [/i]I thought I'd heard.</p><p>"Must be it." I said, but I knew it wasn't.</p><p>"Shit, Twi, you look…" Vinyl reached across the table to brush my bangs out of my eyes. "I mean. You look-- well, your face is-- what I mean is--"</p><p>"Vinyl." Lyra nudged Vinyl in the ribs to break her out of her loop. "I think she's trying to ask if you slept enough?"</p><p>I snorted, which was meant to sound cool and dismissive but actually came out very forced and jarring. "I'm fine, don't worry about it."</p><p>Lyra and Vinyl shared a look. I didn't like it.</p><p>"You've been acting super weird lately, Twi," Lyra said, looking back at me. "Is something going on?"</p><p>Lyra's hooves were folded on the table in front of her like a junior psychiatrist. Vinyl did not know what to do with her body and sat oddly rigid, a look of concern and discomfort stuck to her face like a sticker.</p><p>I shrugged. "I dunno. I guess I just… I hope I made the right choice, y'know?"</p><p>"The right choice?" Lyra asked.</p><p>"About… leaving."</p><p>Vinyl scoffed and waved a hoof dismissively. "Are you kidding me? Totally. Even if you end up hating all this, you can just go back to school when you're done. Gap year, right?"</p><p>"You think?"</p><p>"Hells yeah!"</p><p>Lyra nodded along. "Totally, Twi!"</p><p>I let out a tentative sigh of relief. A little bit of weight lifted from my chest.</p><p>"What can I getcha, Chunks?"</p><p>I jumped so hard that the chair squeaked again.</p><p>Lyra put a hoof over her mouth to suppress a giggle.</p><p>"Any time now, Twi," Applejack said. She was holding a little pad of paper in one hoof, muttering around the pencil gripped in the corner of her mouth. "Got other customers."</p><p>"U-um, could I have a mushroom omelette?" I asked. "Please."</p><p>Applejack scribbled quickly, then said "one mushroom omelette, please, for Chunks."</p><p>I chuckled again, an awkward sound if I'd ever heard one. Didn't know what else to do.</p><p>Applejack tore the page out of her notebook and drifted off.</p><p>Lyra laughed aloud.</p><p>"What?!" I demanded.</p><p>"What is with you, Twilight?" Lyra asked. "I've never seen you like this before."</p><p>"I-I dunno…" I shuffled my hooves. "I feel bad, I guess."</p><p>"What for?" Vinyl asked, her mouth filled with egg. "I mean, sure, you did something kinda weird. But it's not a big deal or anything. It's definitely not as bad as some of the shit I've done. Did I ever tell you guys about the time--"</p><p>"Amazingly, Vinyl's right," Lyra plowed over what was sure to be an all-too-embarrassing story. "You've never really cared what ponies thought of you before, and we're leaving town today, anyway. What is it that has you so freaked out?"</p><p>I sighed and sunk low in my chair. "It's stupid."</p><p>"No stupid questions, only stupid answers!" Lyra said cheerfully.</p><p>Vinyl made a confused look, dimly aware that the saying applied in no way to the situation. This didn't bother Lyra in the least.</p><p>"I just…" I put my hooves over my eyes in fake exasperation. In reality, I was hiding. "I feel like I know her somehow. Like I have to impress her or-- or she'll go away. And I just can't even deal with that, for some reason! I can't deal with her not being my friend anymore."</p><p>Vinyl snorted. "Hate to break it to you, but she was never exactly your friend in the first place."</p><p>"I know that!" I insisted. </p><p>"Doesn't sound like you know that."</p><p>"I do!"</p><p>Vinyl sneered at me, brows raised, peering over her glasses. </p><p>I scoffed and rolled my eyes.</p><p>Lyra sighed. "We just wanna know what's stressing you out so bad. It's not like any of this is a big deal or anything."</p><p>But it was a big deal. It felt so huge to me, like an enormous pressure that was bearing down on my entire body. Like a blinding, white-hot light was searing every inch of my skin. Like my brain was boiling in my skull. Like a whole swarm of horseflies were burrowing into the walls of my stomach, desperately seeking sunlight and fresh air.</p><p>"I-I know," I said. "I know. No big deal. I know."</p><p>Neither of my friends were convinced.</p><p>Laughter pierced the cacophony of the bakery. Nothing like the shrieking, squealing laughter I had heard in my brain. This one was deep, genuine. A little silly and exaggerated. The kind that was likely to end in a snort. Undoubtedly Applejack's, though I had never heard her laugh.</p><p>I looked over my shoulder at her. She was leaning over the counter, listening as a customer rattled off all the flavors of bagels she wanted for breakfast. Applejack said something, then laughed again, and the customer laughed, too. There was something so beautiful about the sound that it made all the pain and torment and stress recede the tiniest bit, if only for a moment.</p><p>Then she stretched one hind leg out behind her and kicked the wall beside the bagel display case. Two bagels tumbled down from the top shelf and into a basket at the bottom. The silliest, simplest thing. Just something you do when you know your space; you reach around blind and beat up your furniture a bit.</p><p>But, for a second, it was like I was seeing a ghost; she had her mane down, under a Stetson, kicking a tree and-- gosh, the sun was so bright and warm. Must have been summer, but not a city summer. A rural summer. Small-town summer. Cicadas buzzing, wind in the leaves, no voices to be heard but hers. </p><p>I watched, awestruck, as Applejack scooped the bagels out of the basket and stuffed them into a brown paper bag for the waiting pony. All the while, she chatted and laughed with the ponies on the other side of the counter. Effortless. </p><p>"I know it's no big deal. And I know we're not friends, but I just… I feel like we have to be," I murmured.</p><p>Vinyl scoffed. "Yeah, okay drama queen."</p><p>I whipped back around, suddenly very aware of how long I had been staring. "You asked."</p><p>Vinyl rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, I know. But… c'mon, Twi."</p><p>"What?" I whined. I just wanted my food. Just leave me alone, I don't know!</p><p>"It's obvious," Lyra said. "You've totally got a crush on her."</p><p>All the blood in my body rushed to my face-- cheeks and ears, specifically. "What?!"</p><p>Vinyl, uncharacteristically, said nothing more. She sipped her coffee silently and let nothing but the shadow of an emotion cross her face, here and gone too quickly to identify.</p><p>"Oh, please," Lyra scoffed and waved a hoof. "Like somepony as smart as you can't see that. You just stared at her for a full two minutes. Might as well have little hearts floating in your eyes, silly."</p><p>"She's gotcha there," Vinyl agreed.</p><p>"That's just because-- well, sometimes when I look at her, I--" The words wouldn't come. It did make sense, even I had to admit: maybe all this shit I was seeing was just hormonally-induced hallucinations. Visions of fantasies I didn't even know I had. "Sh-shut up!"</p><p>This caused Vinyl and Lyra to burst into laughter. Lyra banged one hoof on the table, nearly sending a fork flying clear across the room.</p><p>"Aw, shoot, I missed the joke."</p><p>The blood rushed harder. I felt as if my face might burst. Even the smell of hot, fresh food did nothing to calm me down.</p><p>Caught between hiding my face in my hooves and sitting up straight that a steel pole, I instead did something stupid with my legs that I really don't wanna think about. This caused another ripple of laughter to wash over my friends.</p><p>"Mushroom omelette for Chunks," Applejack announced, setting the heavy platter down in front of me.</p><p>"Sorry, sorry-- why chunks?" Vinyl asked, wiping a tear from her eye.</p><p>Applejack snorted. "Well 'cause she's gotta be the hardest chunk-blower I've ever seen. Oughta recognize that somehow, ammirite?"</p><p>She punched me playfully on the shoulder as she walked away. I would commemorate this, fondly, as the first time she touched me.</p><p>The touch caused my friends to silence themselves by force; hooves in mouths, breath held. Once Applejack was out of earshot, they melted down all over again.</p><p>"Twilight's in [i]looove[/i]," Lyra mocked.</p><p>Vinyl sniggered along, pushing her glasses up over her eyes.</p><p>I lifted my fork. Even my magic was weak and unsteady, the one thing I could always count on.</p><p>"So, are you gonna ask her out, or what?" Vinyl asked. "Perfect one-night-stand opportunity right here."</p><p>"Ohmigosh yes!" Lyra clapped her hooves together giddily. "Let's get Twilight laid tonight! Perfect way to reduce stress, I swear."</p><p>I was starting to feel like my friends may not know me at all.</p><p>"I-I can't tonight," I blurted, not thinking.</p><p>Vinyl's brows furrowed. "Because…?"</p><p>Hm. Hadn't thought this far in advance. Curses.</p><p>"I'm… busy."</p><p>Lyra leaned forward. "We got that. Busy with what, exactly?"</p><p>"Just-- I have this thing to do and it could take a while and I just wanna make sure--"</p><p>"What thing?" Vinyl asked.</p><p>"I'm fixing her toilet, okay?!" I shouted.</p><p>A brief silence fell over the table.</p><p>Then, at precisely the same instant:</p><p>"Ohmigosh you broke her toilet?"</p><p>"That's a shit first date."</p><p>I took a bite of the omelette. It was the best omelette I had ever had.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Visions of Farmer's Duds Danced in Her Head</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Now that the idea was in my head, I couldn't shake it. Everytime I looked at Applejack I saw her doing… something. In the fields, or maybe the woods. Something athletic. Something sweaty.</p><p>And I didn't even really like it! Or at least I didn't think I did. I had never been that into things like that before.</p><p>But I guess I kinda did like it?</p><p>I liked looking at her, I mean.</p><p>But it wasn't because she made my heart race. In fact, Every time I saw those visions of her, I felt measurably calmer. My breathing became deeper and slower. My mind lulled. For a moment, however brief, the all-consuming blanket of dread was torn from my shoulders, its weight replaced with warmth and comfort.</p><p>The presence of Applejack in the bathroom as I tinkered with her toilet kept me in a perilously unpredictable middle zone. Too stressed to speak properly, yet too calm to just quit while I was ahead and get the fuck out. </p><p>Even the way she sat--in the bathtub, her mane loose and sticking to the damp tile ever so slightly--made me want to just stare at her endlessly. Her back hooves hung over the edge of the tub, kicking ever so slightly, threatening to brush my side with every twitch. Each time I glanced at her, the pink tiles lining the shower walls seemed to shudder, threatening to transform into tree bark.</p><p>"Whaddya think the issue is?" Applejack asked. For some reason, I thought she had a piece of wheat wagging from the corner of her mouth. Her expression was unreadable. Statuesque.</p><p>"Er…" I set down the wrench I had been using to scratch the back of my head. "Maybe if I just check…"</p><p>I lit my horn and used my magic to feel along the interior of the pipes. It wasn't an exact science-- something more akin to seismological tools than actual touch. I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm not an expert. But, then, anypony could tell you I’m not the best with magic.</p><p>No reason Applejack needed to know that, of course. No reason she had to know a single thing about magic in the first place. No reason she [i]should[/i].</p><p>A surging tide of confidence lapped at the corners of my mind.</p><p>"Mm…" I rolled my head around a little bit, jerked it once as if I was tugging on something. "Seems like a… a broken… er…"</p><p>I allowed the sentence to fade away into nothingness as I continued feigning my desperate search for the issue. I even shook the pipes around a bit, eliciting a sound not unlike the deep rumble of a fire hydrant about to spew water.</p><p>Applejack's expression remained impassable. She waited a nearly respectful amount of time before asking "Do you think you can fix it?" Her tone was so even. And low. And angry.</p><p>She hated me.</p><p>She really and truly hated me.</p><p>She had only pretended to be nice in the diner earlier. For the good of the customers.</p><p>The wave of confidence receded faster than I could even comprehend, and my magic faltered. "W-well, that's a-- see, if it is what I think it is, then, uh--" I shook the pipes around a bit more, hoping some disaster would overtake me and I wouldn't have to answer. No such luck, only more far-away metallic groaning. "If it's something else… well then I guess-- I mean, [i]maybe[/i] I can-- But if it's what I think it is--"</p><p>"And what exactly do you think it is?" It was sharp, barked, almost  Applejack folded her front hooves over her chest. </p><p>My magic was popping and fizzling now. Shit, I could almost hear Celestia's voice murmuring from the back row… failing again, just like always! Can't handle the pressure, Twilight? Can't handle the crowd? Can't take being observed like every other little pony?</p><p>I swallowed hard. "It's a stripped, uh… stripped bolt in the…" I rattled the pipe even harder, this time to cover for my shaking voice. A distant rumbling sound filled the room. "Oh, gosh, that's, uh--"</p><p>I kept shaking the pipes, hoping that Applejack couldn't tell I was stalling. </p><p>I think maybe her lower eyelids tensed, but I can't be sure. Boy, that pony won't break for anything.</p><p>But… no. I stole another glance at her, shaking and shaking all the while. This wasn't anger or frustration. It was a far-away distractedness, not unlike that which overcame me when I looked at her. It was careful. Thoughtful. Occuring in some other reality, far away from Manehatten, perhaps far from Equestria at all. </p><p>I decided to switch tactics. Applejack had supplied me with a whole toolbox-- a nice red one, metal, showing its age. I lifted the inset and pulled out what I could only pray was a drain snake.</p><p>Applejack made no move to stop me from jamming the thing down into her toilet, so I assumed I was correct.</p><p>"I never asked." Applejack said suddenly. Her tone was just the same as always-- low and angry.</p><p>I paused, but did not look at her. "N-never asked what?" It came out much quieter than I had intended.</p><p>"Why you booted in the first place."</p><p>I lost my magical grip on the drain snake and went scrambling for it in the toilet bowl.</p><p>Applejack cracked a smile, but did not move. Didn’t make a sound. </p><p>"W-well, thats-- I mean, if you don't mind, thats-- it's very--" I, at last, got a hold of the drain snake. The echoes of my splashing quieted. I cleared my throat. "That is personal, thank you."</p><p>"More personal than being fetlock-deep in my toilet?" Applejack tilted her head downward, allowing her bangs to fall down near her brow. "Why would I ask about that kinda thing if I wasn't ready for somethin' personal?"</p><p>I was silent for a moment. Still, I would not look at Applejack. "I don't exactly feel like sharing something personal just now." I said.</p><p>That was a lie. I wanted nothing more than to talk to her about my woes. About anything. About everything. An altogether stupid feeling, but one that I could barely talk myself out of.</p><p>Applejack nodded. "Alright. Understood."</p><p>I went back to mindlessly plunging the drain snake into the depths of Applejack's toilet. The sounds of disturbed water and muffled metal-on-metal scraping filled the room once again. Something told me I was supposed to be doing something differently, but Applejack wasn't correcting me, so I figured it must be close enough. She seemed like the type of mare who would correct other ponies. Whether they liked it or not.</p><p>She kept staring at me. I wondered, idly, what version of me she was seeing. Was I a farmer, too? Did I have my mane done in pigtails? Was I wearing a neckerchief?  Was I harvesting berries? Oranges?</p><p>I cleared my throat.</p><p>Applejack looked away. She seemed embarrassed, but maybe that was just a projection of my own strange thoughts. Her face still did not seem to change.</p><p>As if prompted by Applejack’s apparent embarrassment, other visions of myself flooded my mind. Considerably more racy ones. I pushed them out as quickly as I could.</p><p>Maybe that was it. Maybe Applejack was a telepath, and she was the one zapping these pictures directly into my brain.</p><p>That would explain how she could sit so quietly just staring at me. My brain never shut up.</p><p>Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to talk.</p><p>"W-what're you doing for the Summer Sun Celebration?" I asked.</p><p>Applejack scoffed. "Ain't that a bit [i]personal[/i]?"</p><p>I shrugged. "Well, I dunno. Is it?"</p><p>Applejack looked up and her eyes refocused on mine. I thought I registered the slightest hint of shock. Maybe pride.</p><p>She buried the feeling well, though. "Drinking. It's the one day a year I have an excuse to drink while the sun's still up." She smirked to herself and crossed one back hoof over the other. Her right hoof brushed my barrel ever so slightly, so gently that she may not have noticed it herself.</p><p>"Mm." The sound escaped me involuntarily.</p><p>"What about you, Chunks? Something tells me you're not the drinking type."</p><p>Applejack had gotten a lot more comedic mileage out of this whole vomit incident than I had anticipated.</p><p>I scoffed. "I-I drink. I drink plenty."</p><p>"Never said not drinking was a bad thing," Applejack said. "You're underage, aren't you?"</p><p>I nodded. "I'm eighteen. Are you [i]not[/i] underage?"</p><p>Applejack shrugged. "I'm twenty. My, uh… well. I have some cider connections."</p><p>"Oh."</p><p>"How old did you think I was?"</p><p>I blinked. "I dunno. I thought-- I dunno. I guess I just figured we were the same age."</p><p>Applejack waved one hoof dismissively. "Close enough."</p><p>"Yeah. Close enough."</p><p>"What about you?"</p><p>"What [i]about[/i] me?"</p><p>"What are you doing for the celebration?"</p><p>Brilliant. Another question I didn't want to answer.</p><p>I continued to wiggle the drain snake around, though very slowly and without much thought.</p><p>"Well, I'm from Canterlot," I said. "That's where the big… y'know, all the carnival stuff and ceremonies are."</p><p>Applejack nodded. "So you're going back to the city, then?"</p><p>"That's not--" I shook my head. "I dunno just yet. I might stay here."</p><p>"What's there to do here?" Applejack asked. "Don't you wanna go home for the celebration? See the princess and everything?"</p><p>No… no, I really didn't want either of those things. </p><p>"Yeah, maybe." I nodded. "Wouldn't you wanna be with your family, too?"</p><p>Applejack grew very quiet. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."</p><p>I guess I had made a wrong move, but the way that Applejack stared at the inner surface of the tub told me I wouldn’t find out why any time soon. </p><p>There wasn't much left to say. I went back to tinkering with the toilet, this time as quietly as possible.</p><p>Of course I didn't want to go home. What was there at home? A celebration of the one pony I hated more than anything, surrounded by a bunch of other ponies with happier, more successful lives.</p><p>I'd have to see my brother, a high-ranking member of the royal guard. Love him to bits, but it just hurt to see him be adored while I was left in the dust.</p><p>I'd have to see my parents, of course. We had left things in a less-than-good place.</p><p>I'd probably have to see all those Gifted-Foal clique mares. The ones who'd made it into the program, and who would not hesitate to remind you. </p><p>And, of course, at the end of it all, I'd have to stand in a crowd and watch the mastermind of my rejection be applauded uproariously by every pony in Canterlot. Princess Celestia-- the pony who had once held my fate in her hooves, and who really couldn't have cared less about it. Who had failed me, a tiny filly, for being incapable of completing a massive magical task.</p><p>I jammed the drain snake down far enough that my hooves splashed in the water. I hadn't realized how much more violent my thrusting had become.</p><p>Applejack glanced at me, but decided not to comment.</p><p>That somehow made me even angrier. Applejack commented on everything. Did she feel sorry for me? Was this a pity silence?</p><p>Whoa, girl. </p><p>You don't know a thing about this mare. Where are these assumptions coming from?</p><p>I stabbed with the drain snake again. The toilet responded with an absolutely unholy sucking sound, so abrupt and extreme that I yelped aloud.</p><p>Applejack's eyes narrowed.</p><p>I made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. "Th-that's good! It's the… the clog is clearing."</p><p>"Mm…"</p><p>[i]"Grrrrrrrargh"[/i] the toilet added.</p><p>Applejack, with great effort, managed to push herself into a more upright position.</p><p>"If you can't fix this, it's alright. I've got a plumber."</p><p>"No, no!" I blurted. Stupid. You had an out, stupid. "It's okay. I've got this."</p><p>"Huh," Applejack said.</p><p>Our eyes stayed locked for a moment; hers glaring at me with the hoping of drawing out an admission, mine desperately trying not to blink or flicker about. I know that wasn't exactly the name of the game, here, but it seemed like the thing to do.</p><p>Applejack broke eye contact with me to look into the toilet bowl. I returned to snaking, very slowly. It sounded a bit like a distant saw… [i]sht-sht[/i].</p><p>"So, you like the Summer Sun Celebration stuff they do in Canterlot?" Applejack asked.</p><p>[i]Sht-sht[/i]. “What does that have to do with anything?"</p><p>"Just making conversation, Chunks."</p><p>[i]Sht-sht[/i]. "It's… not really my thing. Maybe when I was little. Not so much anymore."</p><p>"Tsk." Applejack blew her frizzy bangs out of her face. "Shoulda guessed you were one of those."</p><p>"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked. </p><p>Applejack unfolded her front legs and tucked them behind her head. She closed her eyes as she did, and I got another flash of her sitting just like that, just so, under a tree. The sunlight gathered in golden pools along her chest and stomach. The breeze ruffling her mane. In fact, even in this tiny bathroom, her bangs seemed to float on an impossible breath of wind. There and gone in the blink of an eye.</p><p>"I mean that city mares like you go one of two ways: you either love all the hokey tourist junk, or you think you're above it." The ghostly piece of straw waved at me from the corner of her mouth. "With that mane cut of yours… well, I bet you think of yourself as quite the rebel, don't you?"</p><p>My cheeks burned.</p><p>She was wrong, in a way. But also very right, in a way. </p><p>I didn't like the Summer Sun festivities because I didn't like looking at Celestia. Didn't like the glimpse I got of a better life, one where I worked directly under Celestia like that Moondancer unicorn, being coddled and cared for, living in the royal library and probably seeing my own brother a lot more often than I did.</p><p>But I was kinda proud of the fact that I hated it.</p><p>"Isn't doing things your own way a good thing?" I asked. Quietly.</p><p>"Well, sure," Applejack added. "But real rebels do things. City rebels just [i]don’t [/i]do things."</p><p>My eyes narrowed.</p><p>"Never mind," Applejack said, waving away my confusion with one hoof. "Forget I said anything."</p><p>I growled to myself and shook one of the pipes around again, this time hoping it would burst. "What are you, then? Staying inside and drinking all day. Is that a real rebel or a city rebel?"</p><p>Applejack shrugged. "Never said it was a rebellion."</p><p>“Neither did I.”</p><p>“Manecut says otherwise.”</p><p>Long before I could form a response, the toilet made another hideous and indescribable sound; this one loud and terrifying enough that Applejack was scrambling against the inside of the tub, struggling to look down into the toilet at the problem.</p><p>The two of us started down into the porcelain bowl as every drop of water drained out of it, leaving behind a marbled surface that was less white and more gray-yellow. The further the water receded the louder the sound grew-- until it was suddenly silenced.</p><p>We were frozen for a moment or two, wondering idly what might happen next. Was this  what a fixed toilet looked like? After all, it was clear that neither of us knew what we were doing.</p><p>But we didn't wonder long. The sound returned, like the roar of a lion, and every single drop of water came rocketing back up through the pipes.</p><p>Applejack hit the deck as fast as she could, hiding behind the edge of the tub as I was drenched with public toilet water.</p><p>I didn't know whether to scream, cry, or puke.</p><p>The water stopped. Applejack peered over the edge of the tub.</p><p>I wiped my mouth with a dry patch of fur on the back of my foreleg. "I don't think it's fixed," I muttered.</p><p>"You can say that again."</p><p>"I'm sorry, I know I said--"</p><p>"Do you wanna use my shower?"</p><p>I blinked. A few drops of toilet water flew from my eyelashes.</p><p>Applejack made a sound that seemed to be a suppressed chuckle, though it could have been a cough.</p><p>“If--” more water flew from my upper lip “--if it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”</p><p>Applejack shook her head. “Nope. No trouble.”</p><p>She leapt, gracefully, from the tub and squeezed behind me.</p><p>“I can pay for--”</p><p>“Just take a damn shower, Chunks!” Applejack shouted, kicking the bathroom door shut with her back hoof.</p><p>I sat still for just a moment more. Something about being drenched like this made me feel… strange. Sort of blue, I guess. Not a sad blue-- a bright, shocking blue. Electrically blue. </p><p>[i]Oops, I guess I overdid it. Um-- uh-- how about this? My very own, patented Rain-Blow Dry! No, no. Don't thank me. You're quite welcome.[/i]</p><p>I shook my head to clear away the abrasive voice. Toilet water splattered across every visible surface.</p><p>My heart stopped.</p><p>I jumped in the tub.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Hair!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ever notice how every shower curtain sounds the same?</p><p>It's weirdly comforting. The shower controls might be foreign, and the water pressure might be… unexpected. But, when the water turns off and you slide the curtain aside, it always sounds the same. The same deep crinkling of the plastic, the same metal-on-metal [i]shing![/i] of the rings. Silly as it sounds, it settled me a bit.</p><p>The air outside the shower was colder than I anticipated. I shivered and yanked the dark brown towel off the bar beside me. The towel was old and had lost most of its fluff, but it smelled like fresh laundry and dryer sheets, so it was lovely all the same. Just a scrubby-er lovely than I had anticipated.</p><p>I used my magic to lay the towel on the tile floor and stepped out of the tub, wiping each hoof dry as I went. </p><p>There was a mirror over the sink, all fogged up with steam from the hot water. I used the back of my foreleg to wipe away a patch of fog. There, in the mirror, I saw her: tired, embarrassed, with a frizzy and poorly-styled mane. Her lavender coat looked dulled than usual, her eyes lacking that signature Twilight sparkle.</p><p>I blinked. Another me: her mane perfectly smooth and shiny, with nice straight bangs and an academically-minded look in her eye. A spring in her step. A mission.</p><p>I blinked again. Back to me and my cowardly faux-hawk. Bags under the eyes. Stupidly bad posture. Did I always stand this way?</p><p>I shifted my hooves, standing up taller and straighter. Now, the majority of my horn was obscured by fog. I leaned over the sink and widened my little viewing window. There. Much better.</p><p>My mane, flopped over my right ear and looking pathetic, would look much better as bangs, wouldn’t it?</p><p>Frantically, using hooves and magic, I combed my man down my forehead, creating some terrible makeshift goody-goody mane style.</p><p>I froze, stepped back, and examined my work. </p><p>I looked… I dunno.</p><p>Whatever it was, it made my stomach do flip-flops. And it made my forehead start to sweat, too-- though I guess that could have been from my wet mane. I almost felt like I was about to puke again, truth be told. Felt like the walls were closing in, like the steamy air was suffocating me, bearing down on me, applying unbearable pressure on every square inch of my skin, like my chest with burning with the effort it took to breathe, like--</p><p>I scrubbed through my mane with one hoof. It returned to its usual style with unbelievable ease, like a ball rolling down a hill and settling in a valley.</p><p>I stared at myself. Stared right in the eye.</p><p>What was I doing?</p><p>Following whims was getting me nowhere fast. Stupid Compass Rose, sending me out to follow my stupid heart and do stupid stuff. The whole thing was so [i]stupid[/i]!</p><p>I mean, what next? Would I embark on some mission of reinvention, all sparked by the unkind words of some random Manehattanite? Would I wander blindly into some fancy, expensive salon and just tell the owner to do their worst?</p><p>[i]Oh, my stars, darling! What happened to your coiffure?![/i]</p><p>For the love of--</p><p>I stomped my hoof on the tile to clear the unfamiliar, accented voice from my mind. Was it some kind of developing disorder? Were the events of these past few days so horrible as to cause my mind to splinter?</p><p>I turned away from the mirror and picked up the towel. Perhaps rejoining society would kick this weirdness.</p><p>The air from beyond the bathroom was like an arctic blast against my warm hide. I shuddered and resisted the urge to wrap my towel around my shoulders. I noted the addition of an "Out of Order" sign to the bathroom door.</p><p>It struck me, for the first time, that having a shower in a public-use bathroom actually didn't make much sense. I looked back over my shoulder into the room, I guess hoping that some bit of flashy neon I had previously missed would announce the answer to me. Shockingly, there was no unnoticed signage in the rinky-dink bathroom.</p><p>"Well, you sure smell better."</p><p>I jumped. As usual, Applejack had managed to sneak up on me. She was back in her chef's garb and looking surly.</p><p>"Uh… thank you?"</p><p>"Towel." Applejack held out a hoof for my dirty laundry.</p><p>I considered asking Applejack exactly what kind of stick she had stuffed up her ass, but decided that it would be better to just fork over the towel and be done with it.</p><p>She took it like a teacher would a bag of weed.</p><p>"Thanks," I said.</p><p>"For?" Applejack was already on the move, headed upstairs.</p><p>I followed close behind. "F-for letting me use your shower."</p><p>Applejack stopped on the stairs. I jolted and nearly slipped down onto the landing.</p><p>"Applejack?"</p><p>"I only let you do what I owed you. Now, get back to your friends so I can call a real plumber."</p><p>My mouth hung open, half-formed thoughts all tumbling over one another trying to reach it. While I did that, Applejack climbed the stairs and turned the corner into her little loft apartment. </p><p>I slipped back one stair and the light of the evening sun caught the side of my eye.</p><p>It was past five. The work day was over. I had frittered away a whole day splashing about in a stranger’s toilet, and for what? Friendship? Closure? Reconciliation?</p><p>I wanted to scream, or maybe run away. I couldn’t bear to think that this was it. Could that really have been that last time I’d see her?</p><p>No… something told me I would again.</p><p>But how soon?</p><p>What would I have to do?</p><p>What if I left Manehattan when I was really supposed to stay?</p><p>What if I followed her somewhere just to see her again and everything else went to hell?</p><p>While my mind puttered along, munched on any little crumb of doubt and anxiety it could get its paws on, I began pacing.</p><p>I had always had a habit of pacing. I typically didn’t have the space to do it, though. Desks kept me restrained, and so I kicked. My room was too small to walk in a ring, and so I would lay in my bed listening to music as loud as it would go. I suppose it wasn’t so much a need to walk as it was a need to get energy out in any way possible. But not physical energy. Emotional energy.</p><p>I wandered into the front room. The glass display cases were devoid of baked goods, only blank trays lined with wax paper filling their rows, already prepped for the next day's muffins and cupcakes. </p><p>Just like me. An empty shell, waiting to be filled with the personality of the day.</p><p>More intense orange light filtered in through the old-fashioned wooden blinds, tinged redder by the cotton curtains drawn back in neat bunches. </p><p>I always liked this time of day. Three guesses why.</p><p>Of course I would let something as insignificant as my name dictate crap like that. What if I had been born a night owl, and I’d never give it a second thought because I always just liked dawn and dusk because that was my stupid name?</p><p>I considered leaving. The burning of bile in my throat was transforming into a burning of tears in my eyes.</p><p>As I approached the door, my thoughts slowed, like an arrow shot into a cube of gelatin.</p><p>Didn't this place need to be locked up?</p><p>I pushed gently on the front door. It opened with ease.</p><p>I yanked my hoof back as if from a hot stove. The bell jingled. The door slammed shut.</p><p>Now what?</p><p>It’s not like I had a key.</p><p>Applejack was going to realize eventually, right? She'd realize and come marching down the stairs with a big ring of old keys and--</p><p>Big ring of old keys? Damn, Twi, been reading too many detective novels lately?</p><p>--and she'd either see me here, waiting and guarding her bakery/cafe/diner very diligently, or she'd see the storefront empty… and she'd be seized with the need to check everything, make sure all was accounted for. After all, what if somepony had taken advantage of the unlocked front door?</p><p>It could take her hours, depending upon what she had in the back.</p><p>Maybe I should check.</p><p>If I found something valuable, then I should stay. If not… </p><p>Before I could even follow my winding thoughts to the end of their trail, my hooves were walking me to the kitchen. </p><p>I guess… I guess if there wasn't anything expensive-looking that I could easily reach… well, then I could leave! Right? Unless she had something hidden, something I couldn’t find.</p><p>I pushed past the huge, metal door, all the while thinking of submarines, and how funny it is that restaurants and submarines share so much. First, these weird round windows. Second, the word "submarine" (though I preferred to call them hoagies). I can't think of anything else right now, but I'm sure it's there. The presence of food, probably.</p><p>Part of me expected the kitchen to still be bright, bustling with life-- as if the massive doors created some kind hermetic seal, and breaking it would unleash a barrage of light and sound.</p><p>Not so. The kitchen was still and dead. It smelled a bit like uncooked flour and grease, and a lot like buttercream frosting.</p><p>My hooves echoed on the tile floor. Everything was really clean. I'm not sure why I found that so surprising. I guess I always thought these sorts of kitchens were chaotic, messy places. Now that I thought about it, though, I don’t know why I expected professional chefs to not only have so little control over their stirring ability, but also leave their workspace a sty for the next morning.</p><p>Suddenly, cooking in a professional kitchen seemed a lot less glamorous.</p><p>The fridge was towards the back of the room. On my walk, I didn't see anything that looked like a safe. Or… like a hidden safe.</p><p>There go those detective novels again, Twi. What exactly does a hidden safe look like? A painting with the eyes cut out? A funny-looking panel in the wall?</p><p>As if. A painting with the eyes cut out is for surveillance. And a weird panel could never conceal an entire safe.</p><p>… Focus, Twi.</p><p>I opened the fridge with my magic.</p><p>Definitely not what I expected.</p><p>Inside the fridge was six-pack after six-pack of glass bottles, all of them filled with a sparkling bronze-colored liquid.</p><p>I pulled one out, ever so gently, and examined the label.</p><p>[i]Sweet Apple Acres Heirloom Hard Cider[/i]</p><p>I furrowed my brows, unsure about the use of "heirloom" in such a context. Just one of those words that city folk seem to think means "down-home" or "family recipe" or something.</p><p>Also on the label was a picture of an incredibly burly, tough-looking stallion wearing a yoke. He was flexing one foreleg for the camera--or, I suppose, the artist. Two pieces of silky golden ribbon proclaimed "BIG MAC APPROVED" in bold, important-looking letters. The ribbons were suspended in the air above and below Big Mac's portrait, gently brushing against his red fur, and bringing out the yellow of his freckles.</p><p>I thought I had never seen such a horrible caricature in my life, and gently pushed the six-pack back in its place.</p><p>My trip to the kitchen had afforded me no additional helpful information. Applejack did have exposed goods (in the form of copious amounts of alcohol), but would anypony really expect to find that stuff here? Enough to break in? Well… okay, walk in.</p><p>I flopped back down in a wooden chair, which squeaked loud enough to scare me. I made a mental note to complain to Applejack about this terrible feature next time I saw her.</p><p>Because there would be a next time, wouldn't there? She would come down the stairs to lock the door, and I would have to talk to her again.</p><p>I folded my hooves on the table and rested my head on them. I sighed with the depth and emotion of a dog who had done absolutely nothing all day, and yet found strife in his less-than-comfortable bedding.</p><p>What do I want?</p><p>What Compass Rose hadn't told me is that, if you follow your gut once, you have to follow your gut a bunch more times. You have to keep asking yourself what you want every minute of every day, just to make sure the whim hasn't worn off and left you high and dry. You’re committing to a life--or, at least, a summer-- of whims.</p><p>And I'm really, really good at ignoring my feelings. </p><p>But here, in the blank atmosphere this empty cafe afforded me, I was finally able to hear my own voice bubbling up from deep inside me.</p><p>"We have to get ready for the Summer Sun Celebration!" I could hear myself saying.</p><p>I smacked my forehead on the table. Really? The deepest, most primal part of me, wanted to start preparing for a celebration that was more than a month away? </p><p>That couldn't be right.</p><p>What did I want? Really, truly. What did I want?</p><p>Did I really wanna play with my band? Or was that all some elaborate scheme my brain cooked up to get the hell out of Dodge? To spend time with my best friends? To explore something which may or may not turn out to be the one true talent that would get me out of this?</p><p>I rolled my head to the side. This table was hard. Another complaint for Applejack, I thought. Softer tables. That was reasonable, right?</p><p>It's not like the band had ever been a priority of mine or anything. Sure, I knew how to plunk out of a few songs on the keyboard, but that was nothing compared to Lyra and Vinyl. They were real, actual musicians. Their cutie marks said so. What made me think I could call the shots on their stuff? On their careers?</p><p>No, no. You're panicking again, Twi. You already talked to them about this, and they're happy and proud. They like doing this with you. No reason to get all twisted up.</p><p>There must be something you want.</p><p>Something you and only you want to do.</p><p>What is it?</p><p>Think, Twilight!</p><p>I smacked my head on the table a few more times. It didn't help.</p><p>Is this what it felt like to be a failure? Maybe I was one of those "Before Their Time" ponies you always read about. The ones born with a special talent that didn't exist yet-- like roller-coaster engineers born in the stone ages, or video game masters stuck before vacuum tubes were invented.</p><p>Maybe I was supposed to be really great at time travel or something, and I was just born too early. Or maybe I really did have some musical talent, and the instrument I was born to play just didn't exist yet.</p><p>That means it's not my fault, right?</p><p>"You're still here?"</p><p>I made a loud, startled sound and shot straight up in my chair.</p><p>Applejack was standing on the threshold to the hall, her face the usual unreadable stone tablet.</p><p>"I was just--"</p><p>Applejack heaved a great sigh and started towards the front door. She did not look at me, only her destination. "Can't you take a hint?"</p><p>"Well, I thought--"</p><p>"You thought wrong."</p><p>I cringed into myself as Applejack opened the door and held it wide open. Her eyes slowly turned from the road to me.</p><p>We just sat that way for the better part of a minute, silently, each hoping the other would speak first. Although I suppose it was possible that Applejack didn’t want to speak at all, just wanted me to leave.</p><p>"I--"</p><p>"I don't like you, Twilight."</p><p>It was like a shot through the heart. My chest hurt suddenly and powerfully, like all the blood had been sucked out of it in the flick of a tail.</p><p>"You don't?"</p><p>Applejack shook her head. "It's nothing personal. We have nothing in common."</p><p>I swallowed.</p><p>"I know you like to think of yourself as some misfit or something because you're a blankflank who went to a crappy school," Applejack said, with no qualms about calling me a blankflank right to my face. "The truth is, you were still raised in a comfortable home with a loving family and you have absolutely no idea how to fend for yourself. I thought it was sweet, at first, but it's honestly just been a reminder of…"</p><p>Here, she drifted off. I tried to fill in the pieces in my own mind but was coming up just the tiniest bit short.</p><p>Applejack sighed again, this time much huffier and lighter. "You and all your city-folk friends will never be like me. And that's okay. But you can't keep pretending like we're at all on the same playing field."</p><p>I looked down at the floor.</p><p>"I fought for everything I have. And, if my guess is right, you're here because you threw everything away. That is not now and will never be the same."</p><p>I looked up and met Applejack's eyes. I expected them to be shimmering with tears, but they seemed unaffected.</p><p>"Sure, Applejack."</p><p>Applejack nodded in response. "Now, get on home. I'm sure your friends are wondering where you are.”</p><p>I didn't protest. I didn't protest, and I'm proud of myself for that. There were a lot of things I could have said, but in the moment I just felt so… so defeated. So sad and sunken and irreparably broken. </p><p>I squeezed past Applejack in the doorway, our flanks sliding past one another in a way that was far too intimate for the conversation we had just finished. Well, scolding session. Although, I guess even eye contact would have been too intimate at that stage.</p><p>As I walked back to the van, I thought about what Applejack had said. About me being a rebel. And about me throwing things away instead of fighting for them.</p><p>Honestly, I think she just really had it out for big-city folks like me and my friends.</p><p>But, even more honestly, I knew that couldn't be it. Applejack wasn't a liar, and she wasn't one to come at an issue from the side, either. If she hated me just because I was from Canterlot, I would have heard her say as much.</p><p>I'm not entirely sure why I thought that. But I knew it to be true. It was a gut thing. A gut feeling. One that I was listening to.</p><p>I was a little impressed. I almost smiled.</p><p>Maybe I needed to start fighting for things.</p><p>Now I just needed to pick a thing to fight for, I guess.</p><p>Which took me right back to square one!</p><p>Well.</p><p>If one good thing had come of the day, it was the knowledge that plumbing was not my special talent.</p><p>I stopped.</p><p>I had tried it, failed at it, and basically hated it. Now I didn’t have to think about it anymore.</p><p>Process of elimination!</p><p>The idea was coming together, but it wasn’t quite words yet-- just vague ideas and concepts. Despite that, a good feeling was rising in my chest.</p><p>Up ahead I could see the van, and I broke into a gallop. Lyra and Vinyl would help me figure things out, just like they always did!</p><p>“Hey, is that Twilight?” Vinyl asked, muffled from the van’s interior.</p><p>“Ohmigosh, Twilight!”</p><p>The light of Lyra’s magic seeped through the crack between the van’s back doors. One swung open, and there stood Lyra-- grinning from ear to ear.</p><p>“Hey! How was the date, Casanova?” Lyra asked, wiggling her eyebrows.</p><p>“Process of elimination!” I shouted.</p><p>I leapt into the van, right past Lyra, and landed with a metallic bang.</p><p>“Whoa! Easy on the suspension, Twi,” Vinyl warned.</p><p>I chuckled. “Sorry.”</p><p>“What was that about…” Lyra cocked her head. “About process of elimination?”</p><p>I smiled. I was breathing hard from the burst of speed, and I’m sure my mane looked a fright.</p><p>“I’m sorry, are you wet?” Vinyl asked. “In my van?”</p><p>I ignored her. “It’s my new philosophy! Process of elimination!”</p><p>Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “Like… for life?”</p><p>I nodded. “Exactly, yes! I’m going to just-- to just keep trying as many different crazy things as I can, and eventually I’ve [i]got[/i] to find my special talent… right?”</p><p>Lyra and Vinyl stared at me.</p><p>“What?” I asked.</p><p>“I guess that’s as good an idea as any,” Lyra said.</p><p>“Twilight, [i]please[/i] tell me that brown smudge on your flank isn’t what I think it is,” Vinyl said with great desperation.</p><p>I whipped my head around. There was, indeed, a red-and-brown smudge on my flank where a cutie mark should have been.</p><p>I turned back to the group, waving one hoof dismissively. “Oh, no. I took a shower.”</p><p>“You [i]showered[/i] there?” Lyra’s jaw dropped. “After doing [i]what[/i]?”</p><p>“How much is this ‘trying crazy things’ plan gonna set you back, exactly?” Vinyl asked.</p><p>“Did you end up fixing her toilet?” Lyra asked, barely allowing Vinyl the chance to finish her thought.</p><p>“Did you still wanna play the show at the cafe?” Vinyl said. “‘Cause I talked to the guy, and--”</p><p>“Do you think she likes you back?”</p><p>Their voices built and built upon one another, creating a tornado of words that felt just as oppressive as the bathroom steam.</p><p>“Stop!” I blurted.</p><p>My friends froze.</p><p>“I--” I sighed, though it sounded more like a stifled sob than anything. “I want something to fight for. You guys have your cutie marks, and I-- I just feel like… I don’t have anything.”</p><p>Vinyl pushed her shades up to cover her eyes. Lyra chewed on her lip.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just want help, you guys. I need to figure out who I am-- who I’m [i]supposed[/i] to be.”</p><p>Lyra nodded. “I get it. I remember how it felt to be-- well. You know.” She reached over and put a hoof on my shoulder. The warmth of her touched relaxed me almost instantly.</p><p>“Yeah,” Vinyl said. She slung her own hoof around me. “We’re with you, Twi.”</p><p>I breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>“So, what do we do?” Lyra asked. “Are we, like, a task force? Or, ooh! Some kind of secret society?”</p><p>Vinyl chuckled. “I could get used to being a secret society member.”</p><p>“Come on, guys.” I gave Vinyl a playful punch in the chest. “It’s not all that.”</p><p>“It is too!” Lyra said. “And a secret society needs a name!”</p><p>“Ah, nice! I’ve got a whole book of band names!” Vinyl got up from her seat against the wall of the van and began to poke around a pile of garbage in the corner. “Okay, okay: Hep Alien?”</p><p>“What?” Lyra got up, too, crowding beside Vinyl.  The van groaned with the change in weight distribution. “No, no-- it can’t be just any name! It’s gotta have something to do with the group. Like, something to do with special talents, or cutie marks, or--”</p><p>“The Cutie Mark Three?” Vinyl suggested..</p><p>Lyra rolled her eyes. “No, not like that. Something like… The Cute-tastically Fantastics!” She struck a funny pose that rocked the whole vehicle side to side.</p><p>I laughed. “The Cutie Mark Crusaders?”</p><p>Lyra and Vinyl whipped around to look at me.</p><p>My smile melted. “What?”</p><p>“It’s perfect,” Vinyl said. </p><p>“It’s so great!” Lyra agreed.</p><p>“Cutie Mark Crusaders, CMC for short!” Vinyl laughed.</p><p>I shook my head. “Guys, please, I wasn’t--”</p><p>“Cutie Mark Crusaders, Yeah!” Lyra held up her hoof for a high one.</p><p>Vinyl, still laughing, smacked Lyra’s hoof with her own.</p><p>“Oh, Celestia, what have I started…” I hung my head, partially out of embarrassment and partially to hide my smile.</p><p>“Don’t leave us hanging, Twi,” Vinyl said.</p><p>I looked up. The girls still had their hooves in the air, waiting patiently for me to complete their little ritual. As I looked at them, I tried to take a little mental snapshot. Something about the formation of this group just felt very right-- necessary, even. Like a little piece of the world had fallen into place, albeit haphazardly.</p><p>I gently and silently added my hoof to their cluster.</p><p>Their shouting was renewed, more incoherent than last time but even more filled with joy and camaraderie.</p><p>Tomorrow would begin my Crusade.</p>
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